Even From Behind the Mask
by Peahopeless
Summary: Evey finds one of V's masks in need of repair and a discussion is broached on how the man behind the mask has changed since that night on the Fifth of November. Immediate followup to 'The One She Chose'.


* * *

**Disclaimer: **As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros.

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**Special notes: **Happens on an Eve of the Fifth, that night between Nov 4 and Nov 5. Follow-up to "The One She Chose". So recall the ending to that story.

I've assumed, since about the second or third time of seeing the film, that Evey's voiceover, at both beginning and end, is probably from a speech she gave at a later memorial event. Specifically, I'm assuming it was from the speech referenced about halfway through "The One She Chose". -- -- The speech for the dedication of the black bag memorial wall. That speech would have been given one year after the end of the film, and one year before this story.

Recall this part: _"I've witnessed first hand the power of ideas, I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them... but you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it... ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love."_

**This story has accompanying artwork.** To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "Even From Behind the Mask".

-----------------------------------------------------------  
-----------------------------------------------------------

**Even From Behind the Mask**

It sat there silently, in the soft glow of a red-shaded lamp. Watching over V's dressing room, Evey fancied, when she first came upon it.

... ... Motionless. Although she almost expected it to rise. To tilt. To follow her.

... ... Maybe even to whisper to her.

His mask. Or rather, one of his masks, lying atop his dressing table.

She'd entered the room in search of a blanket; and not without his knowledge. -- -- V had suggested quite clearly that she come here. The blanket would be for their late night viewing of The Count of Monte Cristo -- -- curled up together on the sofa to enjoy an old favourite. Neither wanted the evening to end ... this, their first Eve of the Fifth holiday together.

And yes, she had indeed found the blanket, folded neatly and draped over a corner chair. Then she'd turned around, and come face to face with 'him' -- or rather, 'a version of him' -- staring up from the dressing table.

It actually unnerved her at first, making her take a step backward. A sudden, surprise lesson in how much she'd begun to see this visage as 'him', rather than just a mask. To see a loved one's face -- -- literally, a loved one's face -- -- staring up from a table, was not a typical experience.

This must be a spare, she concluded.

... ... Why did that surprise her?

... ... Was it because you don't usually think of someone having a 'spare' face?

But it did make sense. And this one, she noticed as she looked closer, had something wrong with it. ... ... A nick on one of the cheeks, where a dent had been made and a chip of white enamel removed.

... ... And that too, made her shrink back.

She'd seen 'nicks' like that before. Two years ago in fact, by the side of some underground railway tracks.

Dear God.

The blanket was placed on his main dressing chair, and she reached for the mask ... the rush of concern overpowering any hesitancy at touching something so personal. And 'he' smiled at her -- seemed to honestly smile at her -- as she lifted it into her hands.

It was heavy. That was the next thing she noticed, beyond the cheek's blemish. Heavier than she expected, though she probably should have known better. ... ... Of course it would be heavy. It had to protect him.

Her fingertip slid delicately across the little dent ... as though applying any pressure might somehow make it worse. Might somehow hurt 'him' even more than he'd already experienced. And upon further inspection, she knew her initial instincts were correct. -- -- This damage was from a bullet.

Carefully, she began turning it over in her hands ... looking for any more such marks -- her stomach ready to turn nauseous if she did. ... ... One spot was bad enough. One was horribly bad enough.

... ... But there were none. Only the smooth, shiny whiteness; rosy pink cheeks; black eye-screens; and moustache-lined frozen grin. So whatever had happened, had at least been 'minor' -- if a bullet could ever be considered 'minor'.

And as she turned it over, there were a few moments where the light shown through the screens. If the angle of visibility was just right, light came through the mask, just as it would when her beau was wearing it.

Why did that send waves of adrenaline through her? To see a glimpse ... just the quickest flash ... of what he might see.

A year ago, she had tried looking through one of the imitation masks, and just could not do it. It had felt like a stab in the heart at the time. -- -- The universe's ultimate, cruel joke. -- -- That she had the option of putting on Fawkes's facade and celebrating with the rest, while, at the time, V had been gone for twelve months.

... ... And now, it just felt sacrilegious. For her, at least. And especially here. ... Now. ... ... Not with a mere plastic imitation, but rather, the genuine article. This was the mask she kissed -- or at least one of them. ... ... The man she loved. Whatever curiosity existed within her, to one day look through these eyes, was well dwarfed by a sense of how irreverent it would probably feel.

She did have a moment though ... once she had stopped shifting it between her fingers. ... Once she was assured there was no more damage to find, and once the black eye-screens were staring at her straight-on again. ... ... A moment where she could almost feel a communication.

... ... He was smiling up at her. Watching her.

Had the grin always been this wide? Or was it growing? Pleased to be held so carefully by the woman he loved?

"I'm afraid that one is in need of some repair," V stated from the doorway. Evey jumped as if the voice had come from the mask in her hands -- suddenly come to life and speaking to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered, hastily returning it to the table. "I didn't mean to ..."

"No apologies needed," he reassured quickly. He took a step toward her ... his head dipping disarmingly; his hand held before him with the standard dignity -- yet clenched in unspoken trepidation. "I have no qualms over you handling such things. You know that." ... His voice dropped to the most caring, most affectionate tone. ... "You know how welcome you are here."

Should he tell her that no one had ever touched the masks before, save her? That her kiss had been the very first? ... ... That when she touched it now, he could feel it straight through to his bones -- even when it was a mask he did not currently wear? ... ... Or was that best left for another day? When the hour was not so late, when Edmund Dantes did not await, and when she didn't seem so melancholy?

Evey picked that second Fawkes facade up again. -- -- A moment that required courage, with or without V's presence. Then her finger returned to the little nick on the cheek. "Do I want to know what this is?"

"It's ... ... the required repair," he replied, as obtusely as was humanly possible.

Evey nodded knowingly. So he would just as soon dance around the issue, was that it? "Shall I assume that whoever caused the damage, won't be doing so again?"

And this time, the tilt of V's head was one of understanding -- and regretful admission. -- -- He disliked the idea that she had to think about such things. The fact that she cared so -- about his lowly life -- had always touched him deeply. But still, it was not his goal to cause her worry. ... ... "The rebel?" he clarified, by way of explanation. "No. He will be doing little of anything at all, anymore."

... ... For brief seconds, her eyes closed, and V knew it was not in memory of the rogue whose criminal career he had cut short. -- -- It was a silent prayer against what could have happened, had the mask not been designed with such strength and resiliency.

"It's heavier than I thought it would be," she finally mused. "But I guess that's a good thing ... in light of its need for repairs."

"I've become accustomed to its weight," he demurred, "over the years. A burden carried long enough, eventually loses some of its measure." ... He took another cautious step closer. ... "It should not weigh on you though. It should not make you melancholy."

Evey was studying the mask again, pondering exactly how strong it had to be. How thick of a layer of protection it had to provide. -- -- And not just against flying bullets. ... ... "No, I was just thinking. I guess it has to be heavy, to hide everything it does. ... ... ... A year ago, it even hid you from me. In every way possible."

A pause, while V accepted the implication. Ah yes ... the incident at the memorial's dedication, to which he had admitted only hours earlier.

The forward step he had taken, was now lost to a guilty, pained retreat. -- -- An action very few people would ever witness from this revolutionary hero. And with the utmost sincerity, another apology was issued. "I am ... truly ... sorry ... that my behaviour hurt you, Evey. That was never my goal. That never would be my goal. At the time, I believed my actions were for your benefit. -- -- It was not I whose comfort and protection I sought. It was not I, who mattered that day."

Evey's head shook sadly. "But I don't even know who you were that day." ... ... In her mind's eye, she was trying to remember the scene. Trying to recreate the sea of masks that had stared back at her from the audience. ... Trying, somehow, to pinpoint now, what she had not pinpointed then.

... ... Shouldn't she have felt his presence? ... ... That one, unique man in the crowd, who must have looked on her with the same intense affection she knew from long ago? With the same love she could feel even this very moment, flowing through his gaze? ... ... Shouldn't she have known he was near?

"Every time I think I'm starting to understand who it is," she began, studying the white enameled Fawkes in her hands. "Who it is that lives behind this mask. ... The man who watches me, and watches over me. ... It changes. ... ... ... It changes."

... ... She still couldn't believe it. How had she not seen him? Known him? ... ... The man she loved? ... ... It was almost frightening, in a way.

At this moment, V would have given anything for an answer that might provide relief. If he dropped to his knees and begged for her forgiveness, would that help? Would swearing his heart a thousand times over, soothe her? ... ... As it was, the best he could do, he suspected, was to answer her truly. ... ... "Is that really so unusual, love? Even with the impediment of the mask I must bear?"

Evey looked up ... briefly considering a debate about what he 'must' and 'must not' do, especially when she was in the equation ... but dismissed approaching such a topic now. "What do you mean?" was her far simpler query.

V's step was reclaimed ... tentatively. ... ... One step toward the woman from whom he sought understanding

... ... What an odd sensation. -- -- To feel as though part of himself, hinged on another's perception. In particular, on her perception. And as such, his answer would be most heartfelt, and completely honest. ... ...

"Perhaps the change is not as hidden, or as unexpected, as you suggest. Perhaps all you see is the simple progression of a man. ... ... Making the same human errors that all men are subject to. Stumbling through pitfalls and trying to do the honourable thing. ... The right thing." ... ... How he hoped this decades old mask could accurately portray his sincerity, because in the end, it was coming down to something so simple. ... ... "A gentleman, trying to someday find a bit of happiness."

... ... Slowly, and with at least some of the understanding for which V had hoped, Evey nodded. "I know that. And I see it. But you've always tried to be so different. So set apart. And a year ago, it worked so well that I couldn't even find you. You were in that room, and I didn't even know. ... ... Were you just an 'idea' again? ... ... Someone that I'm not allowed to know?"

And that got another step out of her masked man. Again, he approached, pained by her words. The truth was just the opposite. -- -- Or at least, it should be the opposite. ... ... "Evey, love," he beseeched furtively. "You know the man, who made an error in judgment that day." ... Yes, he would finally admit it. For his actions to have hurt her this acutely, he would have to admit it as a mistake. ... "With honourable intentions, but an error nonetheless. And you know him, like no other ever has."

He paused, his body straightening a bit, calling up his confidence and reinforcing it with the words of the Master himself. ... "Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well." ... It was the flattery he felt her entirely deserving of, transforming into a purred request. ... "Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee."

... ... He got his wish, and her lips quirked with a, "Hmmm. _Twelfth Night_."

... ... It bolstered him -- this hint of lightening in her mood -- and he paused, collecting the fortitude for what he truly needed to say. ... ... "As well," he continued, "there is another kernel of wisdom I was once fortunate enough to encounter, and that I have come to appreciate in recent months. Words spoken in grief, but deeply true in both their simplicity, and their candor. -- -- 'An idea does not love.' "

Silently, Evey's attention dropped to the mask in her hands, her eyes welling instantly.

Of course she knew the words.

She had spoken them one year ago, to dignitaries, mourners, and -- as it turned out -- to the very man who had inspired them. Those words, and others she had wept her way through, had been her plea for the world to understand. ... ... That the man they celebrated as an icon, was -- to her -- someone far more important. ... ... That regardless of what the history books would record, or what V himself had always insisted ... behind that billowing idea that had downed a party and swept a country, there was just a man. ... ... A man who had loved her, and who she too had loved.

And now that man took another step, toward the woman whose head hung sadly above his damaged mask. Never again, should she have to display such sorrow. ... ... The metal shield she held would have to be repaired -- and promptly -- because he could never allow himself to be lost to her again. Nor could he allow his own errors in judgment, to continue her pain either.

"You were correct, Evey," he soothed, finally reaching her ... his hands landing gently on her arms. "It is a man that will love. And who must sometimes ask for forgiveness."

... ... A breath escaped her throat, her soft weeping only an echo of what it had been a year prior. -- -- Because at least now he was here, and the voice that carried those words, was his.

Gloved fingers moved again ... taking the second mask from her hands and returning it to the dressing table. Then he drew her to himself, gathering her into his arms. And though another hard metal mask pressed to the crown of her head, the situation was quite clear. -- -- This was nothing more than a genuine man, comforting the woman he genuinely loved.

"Is that what you're doing now?" she whispered, burying herself against him. Her arms went around his waist, in need of the most basic human comfort. ... ... "Are you asking for forgiveness? For last year?"

V nodded slowly, nuzzling further into the wave of her hair. "Yes, my love. I am. ... For many errors, and many offenses. ... For actions, as well as inaction. ... For pain caused, when my intent was only to ease it. ... ... I do offer my apology, Evey." ... ... The circle of his embrace was completed, and he clung to his lady in heartfelt remorse. ... ... "Please accept it."

Those tears that escaped her, rushed toward him instead ... falling from her eyelashes, trailing along her cheeks ... to be accepted and absorbed by his tunic. -- -- Yet another echo, of an even worse heartbreak this night had once witnessed.

... ... But again ... now he was here, and the voice was his. ... ... A voice that had finally exposed him, even from behind the mask.

"Of course," she murmured, sincere and true. "Of course." ... ... And in accompaniment, her hands spanned across his back -- seeking, quite clearly, to hold the man who had just taken one step out from behind the screen.

... ... Minutes ago, those same feminine fingertips had skimmed across a shiny white cheek ... knowing it ... learning it again as unique. -- -- Special, and apart, from all those imposters that littered the streets overhead. And with the same patience and tender care, those touches would someday discover her beloved as well. ... ... This she knew. ... ... And there could be nothing but acceptance and understanding along that journey.

Above her, V took a breath of relief, letting it out slowly as his grip strengthened. "It is this that I rue the most," he hushed, audible only because of the Gallery's natural silence. "To have denied us this. Had you recognized me last year -- I must admit -- I believe I would have held you then, just as I do now."

And she finally did smile a little, at that thought. At the fact that for all this time, this had awaited her. He had awaited her. -- -- This very real man. She'd only had to find him, and only had to recognize him.

... ... Had another year been worth it, to have this evening?

... ... Had seven more months of his absence, been worth it?

... ... To be as things were now?

Maybe. ... Maybe V was correct, and God didn't roll dice after all.

But still, there was at least one whimsy to the idea, that would have been so wonderful. ... ...

Her eyes rose to meet the eternally frozen grin. There was no grin beneath though. Even that she could 'see' -- 'feel' -- in the dip of his head; in the support of his arms. ... ... "I never would have had to put the Count into the wall," she spoke softly. "We could have watched Edmund and Mercedes, that very night."

One gloved hand curved gingerly along her dampened cheek. And as the mask leaned slowly closer, she realized -- -- she really did see the love behind it. ... ... Clearly. ... ... In a way that she would never find in any other mask. It passed through all barriers -- even those that could stop bullets -- -- revealing itself only to her.

... ... Whatever had been required, had been accomplished. ... ... She could see him.

Fawkes's face -- her beloved's face -- touched gently to hers ... and she gifted it with a kiss.

"Then I shall again invite you," he proposed, "in what's left of this holiday eve, to view the film. With a humble, fallible man ... ... but who does love you very much."

Evey's hands took slow, thoughtful paths up his back ... across his shoulders ... coming to rest on his arms. They too, were becoming so familiar. She could close her eyes, denying herself even the mask as a cue ... ... and still know these arms were his.

"Under the blanket?" she asked. "Is he going to hold me like this ... under the blanket?"

"Ohhhh, of course," he swore. "As soon as is possible, and for as long as you may allow." ... ... Indeed, even his actions promised the same ... his arms coiling once more around her.

... ... Not too tightly though. Not yet, as she leaned gingerly to the side.

That blanket for which she had come, still lay on his chair. She retrieved it, her mind already filling with such wonderful visions of the next two hours. -- -- It would be quite late, by the time he would finally escort her home. But until then ... better than the cloak, and better than the blanket ... it would be he that bundled around her.

And as she picked up the woolen pile, she caught that smile out of the corner of her eye.

... ... Not her beau ... technically ... but the second mask, lying atop the dressing table. It smiled at her -- -- she knew it -- -- she could see it -- -- and in a way it would never smile at another, nor another, ever smile at her.

... ... She felt it, and she recognized it. As surely as she knew these hands and arms, already trying to reel her back in.

... ... Truly. ... ... This year, she could see him.

-----------------------------------------------------------  
-----------------------------------------------------------

'Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou  
entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling;  
thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my  
presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.  
-- Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**This story has accompanying artwork.** To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "Even From Behind the Mask".


End file.
